


now my heart is a pressed flower in a tattered bible

by weatheredlaw



Series: love isn't always magic [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Allusions to Past Sexual Assault, F/M, Mentor/Sidekick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She allows him certain things. She allows him certain secrets. Beautiful Kate, elegant Kate, careful Kate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now my heart is a pressed flower in a tattered bible

**Author's Note:**

> wow more clint/kate things. can be read as happening in the same time and place etc.. as [_we got a groovy thing goin'_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/570955), but doesn't have to be. i just don't want to make a series.

_now my heart is a pressed flower in a tattered bible_  
it is the one verse you can trust  
so I’m putting all of my words in your collection plate  
I am setting the table with bread and grace  
my knees are bent  
like the corner of a page  
I am saving your place --andrea gibson, "maybe i need you"

 

 

 

satisfy me. satisfy me. satisfy me.

 

 

 

Remarkable Kate. Exquisite Kate. Impossible, perfect, miraculous Kate. 

Clint could compose sonnets about Kate Bishop. If he were so inclined, he would wax poetic about the way she fights, the way she snarls and bites and claws. Kate Bishop is a warrior, her eyes upturned to the sky as she breaks open ribcages and waves the Hawkeye flag. Because in Clint's poetic fantasies, yeah, they _totally_ have a flag.

It's a fucking amazing flag.

In reality, Kate Bishop is perched on Clint's kitchen counter, slurping her coffee and picking at her nails. 

Clint could not in good conscious compose _other_ sonnets. Sonnets about the curve of her neck when she sleeps, or the way her knees fit perfectly over his shoulders, or the soft curve of her thigh meeting her hip. It would be untoward and completely unprofessional.

Very much like their flag.

"Is that a penis?" Kate scrunches her nose, pushes her lips out and leans in close. "What are you drawing?"

"Our flag," he says hotly. "It's _cool._ We're getting one made and we'll carry it into battle."

"Ugh. I don't want to do battle anymore. I want to get sandwiches. There's, like, _peace_ in the universe right now." Clint raises an eyebrow. " _Sort of._ The least you can do is buy me lunch."

Clint rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, alright princess. Keep your pants on."

"I wasn't planning on taking them off until after lunch anyway," she says, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose.

Clint's mouth goes a little dry.

 

 

 

She allows him certain things.

She allows him certain secrets.

Beautiful Kate, elegant Kate, careful Kate. 

 

 

 

satisfy me, satisfy me, satisfy me

 

 

 

There aren't enough empty lines in the universe to fill with the way Clint feels about Katie's hands.

The way they grip his shoulders, drawing him taut and hitting the bullseye, every time. 

She gave him her secret to keep, whispered in his ear months before he kissed her, eons before he knew what she looked like between his sheets, with her fingers twisted in his. She stood in his kitchen and told him, her hands quickly chopping onions, never wavering, never stopping, not even for a moment.

"Katie-did--"

"I don't want to talk about it ever again. I just wanted you to know. Since you're my teacher now, or whatever. Because I trust you and I love you. Can I have some wine?"

"No."

"Killjoy."

 

 

 

"I don't need you to keep me safe," she murmurs into his neck. Her lips are wet and warm. 

He loves her.

He answers: "I might need you. God knows I can't take care of myself."

" _I know that_." She sits up. Moonlight criss-crosses her t-shirt. "God doesn't know a damn thing about you."

 

 

 

He comes out of the bathroom, towel hanging loosely at his waist and she stares. Stops him with her hands pressed flat on his chest and pushes herself up to kiss him.

"I love you," he says. God doesn't know if he means it. He knows. She knows. "Katie--"

"Take me to bed." She's too young for him. Tony's always saying that. He watches them move together, and he looks at Clint and he says, _She is too damn young for you._

"Tired, Hawkeye?" he murmurs into her neck. He pulls on a pair of sweats while she strips down to her skivvies, slips under his quilt and closes her eyes. It's past two AM. 

"Tired, Hawkeye."

"Get some shut-eye, boss-lady."

"Mmm." 

It doesn't bother him she doesn't say it back. He kisses her neck and lays flat on his bed, watching the ceiling. He needs to sleep. He has a day, tomorrow. Big day, like all the other ones. He trade his left nut to lay in bed with her for a week, putter around the house with nothing to do. Make microwave burritos and make out on the couch. Like their latenights but for seven days. Seven weeks. Seven years. 

"Clint?"

"Hmm?"

"Does it bother you I keep sleeping here?"

"Did you hit your head while I was washing up?" She smacks him in the face. " _Ow._ "

"Go the fuck to sleep," she mutters. And quietly, ever so quietly. "Love you, too."

Tony says she's too young for him. Says he's going soft. Getting domesticated. 

If this is what it's like, Clint doesn't mind so much. Nah. He doesn't mind so much at all.


End file.
